


And I Jumped the Tracks

by showgirlsteve



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Tower, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Catholic Character, Domestic Avengers, EMT Steve, M/M, Paralegal Bucky, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, despite those tags, not actually an AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 09:36:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3763231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/showgirlsteve/pseuds/showgirlsteve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Steve Rogers is Captain America, superhero and living legend. Other days, he’s just the EMT filling in for the guy on ambulance 14 who had a sudden family emergency.</p><p>Sometimes, the Winter Soldier thinks he might be Bucky Barnes. Other days, he’s content to file legal papers in Matt Murdock’s tiny office without thinking of himself by any name in particular.</p><p>Both of them are waiting for the other to come looking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Jumped the Tracks

**Author's Note:**

> The concept I pitched to Casey (the filthy enabler) was "Steve's a paramedic. Bucky's a paralegal. This fic is not an AU."
> 
> This originated from a headcanon jam about Catholic Bucky bonding with Matt about his faith, so warnings for that, I suppose. This fic is not yet completed, but I plan to finish before Age of Ultron comes out here. Should be around 10k when all is said and done.
> 
> Many thanks to my lovely followers who gave me coherent feedback on the first chapter at 4am.
> 
> Title (and chapter titles) from the Avett Brothers song I and Love and You, which is the Stucky-est song to ever be sung.

Every Monday and Wednesday, Steve eats an even larger breakfast than usual, takes a stuffed backpack with him on his morning run, and doesn’t return to the tower until dinnertime.

He doesn’t tell anybody where he’s going.

Being gone for hours isn’t unusual for Steve, but usually he’s open about what he’s doing. He doesn’t volunteer much but he’s an open book for the right questions. Steve moved into the tower full time after he realized chasing the Winter Solder across Europe wasn’t going to bring Bucky home. All of the Avengers know about his exploration of the city, his favorite spots to grab a bite to eat and sketch, even the VA meetings Sam convinced him to try and the occasional Sunday morning mass he attends.

When someone asks him about Monday and Wednesday, Steve clams up. He keeps the backpack locked up in his apartment and deftly escapes any attempt to corner him about it. He doesn’t miss any essential Avengers functions, so most of the time, most of the team lets him have his secrets.

* * *

“I thought spying was your whole _thing_ ,” says Tony, blocking the cabinet that holds the best mugs in the communal kitchen. “Intelligence, gathering data? How do you not know where Cap disappears to, twice a week? He’s gone all day. Tell me not knowing doesn’t bother you.”

Natasha sets her container of tea leaves on the table and ducks around Tony.

“I’m trying something different,” she tell him. “Steve _is_ allowed to keep something for himself, you know. And you really aren’t one to talk about secrets, considering your condition when we met.”

Tony allows himself to be shuffled around the kitchen while Natasha prepares her tea. Neither Clint nor Natasha have officially moved into the tower – Clint maintains an apartment in BedStuy and Natasha seems reluctant to attach herself to a permanent address at all – but her things have managed to find a home in nearly every cabinet. Her afternoon routine, when she is there to perform it, is a delicate dance around the entire space.

“Okay, when we met? I was _dying._ A man is allowed to – wait, dying. He’s not –“

“I’m sure Steve would tell us if something serious was going on,” Natasha tells him. The _unlike some people_ hangs unsaid in the air between them.

Tony stares into the back of Natasha’s head until she leaves the kitchen. She curls into an armchair without acknowledging him again and raises her mug to Bruce as he exits the elevator and moves toward the kitchen.

“Bruce!”

“I already told you, Tony. I don’t know where Steve is. Or why you’re so concerned about it, to be honest.”

“ _Bruce_.”

Natasha hides her smirk by taking a long drink of her tea.

* * *

On the seventh Wednesday of this routine, Steve comes back to the tower just long enough to change into a dress shirt. He toes off his running shoes and laces up the oxfords that he polishes every weekend even if they haven’t been worn.

He takes an umbrella with him, but when he come home hours later, it doesn’t look like he used it. His hair is plastered to his forehead and in his red-rimmed eyes and his shoes are caked in layers of mud. Sam follows him into the tower, minus the mud, plus an overnight bag. He sets himself up in the kitchen after nudging Steve toward the shower.

“Grave dirt isn’t something you want clinging to you, man,” he says.

Bruce and Tony are the only other people in the tower. They ignore the B movie on the living room TV in favor of watching Sam make hot chocolate. He bustles about the kitchen for a bit before Bruce decides to break the silence.

“It’s good to see you, Sam.”

“But why am I here? No,” Sam says, before Bruce can protest. “It’s okay, I get it. I’m not exactly a regular here. But Steve asked me to come up. He called me when he got a break from –“

He cuts himself off when he catches sight of Tony’s expectant face.

“He called me earlier today, and I was able to catch the train. I have tomorrow off anyway, it’s not anything I can’t manage.”

Tony lets Bruce lead him to his workshop once Steve comes back and settles into a seat at the kitchen table.

“She was a nurse, you know,” they hear Steve tell Sam. “I keep wondering if she’d be proud of me for this.”

“I’m pretty sure she’d be proud of you anyway, Steve, come on.”

“I just can’t stop thinking about her lately. There was this one time, me and Buck –“

“Come on, Tony,” says Bruce softly. “We shouldn’t be listening to this.”

* * *

Three weeks later, after ten days of radio silence, Clint shows up at the tower with two duffel bags and a dog.

The dog has one eye and brown fur that sticks in every direction. He growls at everyone that isn’t Clint or Steve.

Clint has his arm in a fraying sling and at least four different wounds that are still bleeding. Steve helps him stumble to the couch and then backs out of the room while Clint mumbles to Tony about tracksuits and vampires.

“Pepper took Bruce with her on a trip to discuss patents with some lab that thinks they’ve got a decent handle on –“

“Not helpful, Tony,” says Clint through gritted teeth. He clutches his ribs and hisses. The dog whines at the noise and presses his nose against Clint’s knee.

Natasha opens her mouth to contribute and Clint puts a hand up. “Last time you bandaged me the hospital had to cut me out of it. I looked like a mummy.”

“I’m calling a doctor.”

“I don’t need a doctor, I need-“

“Do you want _Thor_ to fix you up?” Tony looks over his shoulder but Thor just shrugs, looking unoffended. “I’m a lot of things, Legolas, but an EMT isn’t one of them.”

“I am,” says Steve’s voice from the other side of the room. He’s carrying the Backpack of Mystery.

Tony stares at him. “You are, what, exactly?”

“An EMT,” Steve tells his shoes. “Or, I mean. Almost. I will be.”

He takes the giant first aid kit out from underneath the kitchen sink and sets it and the backpack near Clint’s feet.

Tony stares with his mouth hanging open as Steve kneels down to pull a flashlight from his pack and shines it in Clint’s eyes.

“ _That’s_ your dirty little secret, Rogers? You’re not close enough to perfect already, so you’re taking classes to become a better do-gooder? You just have to make the rest of us look bad, don’t you?”

He takes a breath, working himself up, and Natasha puts her hand on his shoulder.

“Tony,” she whispers, tilting her head towards the couch.

The rest of Tony’s words turn to ash in his throat. Steve is still kneeling in front of the couch but his hands are both clenching his bag so tight that the seams are visibly straining. He’s stiff, his eyes are closed, and each exhale is louder than the last.

“It isn’t like there’s much use for Captain America in day to day _life_ , Tony,” he says. He starts disinfecting the worst of the cuts above Clint’s right eye.

“You have your company. Bruce has his work. Thor has Asgard, and Jane. Clint and Natasha have – I don’t know, whatever they do with their time.”

“I just drink coffee and watch Dog Cops, mostly,” mutters Clint. Steve ignores the interjection and continues to dab at Clint’s cuts.

“What do I have, Tony? I tried to be a soldier again. That isn’t what SHIELD wanted from me, and look how that ended. I’ve got no family, no job. Peggy gets confused and upset when I visit her and Bucky flat out _runs_ from me.”

Steve’s Brooklyn accent, typically barely there even when he isn’t putting on a show for the public, creeps into his words more and more as he goes on. “I can’t just hide away in a tower with my sketchbook in between _photoshoots_ and global catastrophes, playing catch up while the world moves even farther on without me. I have to _try_ to be a person. At least this way I might manage to be a useful one!”

Clint makes a strangled noise in his throat when Steve grabs his bruised fingers. The sound seems to bring him back to Earth and his entire posture softens.

“This needs a splint,” he says, hiding his face in the first aid box. The dog whines again and shifts his weight to lean against Steve.

“Steve,” says Natasha. “You know you don’t have to –“

“But I _can_. This is something I can do. I’ve got no right to sit here when,” says Steve, shaking his head. He squares his shoulders and grabs a split from the first aid box, turning to Clint to apply it. “It’s not right to do less than I’m able to do. Does that feel too tight?”

“Huh? No,” answers Clint, looking shell-shocked. “It’s fine.”

“Captain,” Thor starts, but Steve talks over him.

“I can’t do stitches, but I think you’ll be alright with these.” He fishes butterfly closures out of the kit. He lays his hand against Clint’s ribs. “You probably need to get these checked out.”

“Nothing’s broken, Cap. I’d know, trust me.”

“Yeah,” says Steve, grinning. It doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I know what that’s like.”

The room is silent except for the dog’s heavy breathing while Steve dresses the rest of Clint’s injuries. He shoves a handful of painkillers into Clint’s hand when he’s done.

“If anything feels worse, or even just feels odd,” he orders, while he repacks his bag. “You _tell someone._ ”

“Will do, Cap,” Clint replies, used to hearing that tone in the field.

Steve takes the backpack back to his apartment and locks the door behind him.

* * *

“This is important to Steve,” says Natasha on Monday. Steve is gone – in class, apparently, and they’ve filled Bruce in on what happened while he was away.

The others nod solemnly in agreement.

* * *

Tony enters the common area after a three day work binge to find Steve leaning over Natasha, who is laying prone on the floor with her eyes closed. The coffee table has been moved against the wall, and Sam is sitting on top of it with an open book in his lap, watching Steve. Bruce observes the entire scene impassively, from the kitchen.

Tony blinks and rubs his eyes, but nothing changes.

“That’s a good look for you,” says Natasha. She has one eye open, now, and quirks an eyebrow at the grease on his forehead.

“Shh,” warns Sam. “You’re supposed to be unconscious, remember?”

“You said unresponsive. You never specified unconscious.”

“Do either of those things mean you can talk?”

“Guys,” says Steve. “Please. My exam is _next week_.”

“Sorry,” they chorus. Natasha closes both eyes and goes limp again.

“So,” says Sam. “Un _responsive_. Pulse of 110. Eight breaths per minute. What now?”

“Assist respiration,” answers Steve.

“How?”

“BVM. Oxygen.”

“That’s right. You got this, Steve.”

Tony makes his way to the coffee machine.

* * *

Before Steve can get his certification, he has to complete a twelve hour shift in a hospital emergency room.

Four hours in, there’s a _disturbance_ that calls for the Avengers. It’s more than the police can handle, but it isn’t bad enough to call for the Hulk.

“We can handle this,” says Tony. “Right, guys?”

“Steve doesn’t even have to know,” agrees Clint.

Bruce looks skeptical but Natasha and Thor refuse to voice any concerns.

* * *

“Steve,” Tony cries. “How was your ER shift?”

“Could’ve been worse,” says Steve, with a strained expression. “I’m told I did very well, considering how busy things were, what with the big fight a few blocks up. I’m told the Avengers got called in and everything.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Seems like everything was handled though.”

“Mmm.”

“Only slightly more property damage than usual.”

“You know how Thor likes to swing that hammer.”

“Hey, Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

* * *

The day that Steve gets his official certification, he puts his church clothes on and disappears without telling anybody where he’s going.

He shows up at the tower hours later with grave dirt on his shoes and a smile on his face.

* * *

Clint wolf-whistles and raises his coffee mug in salute when Steve walks into the communal kitchen wearing his EMT uniform.

“Go on, then,” says Tony. “Give us a spin.”

Steve obliges.

“A fine choice to identify your new profession,” Thor tells him.

“I miss the stars and stripes,” says Natasha. “But this is good for saving lives, too, I suppose.”

“I’m not going to be saving any lives today. Just a tour of a couple of the places where I’ll be filling in.”

Steve had worked out a system with FDNY to fill in as a volunteer for ambulance stations that were short staffed on an as-needed basis. It wasn’t fair, he said, to constantly break a regular schedule for Avengers emergencies and events. This way, there was no single crew relying on his presence, but he would still be able to make a difference.

“They already have you scheduled next week, though.”

“Yeah,” says Steve. “In Hell’s Kitchen. They’ve been having some issues with all the reconstruction.”

“Some interesting characters over there.”

“I doubt I’m going to run into that Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Especially not with the lights on, on the ambulance. But it should be interesting, yeah.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Visit me on tumblr!](http://showgirlsteve.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> Kudos are great, I love you forever for comments.


End file.
